


The Sweater Curse

by RiBread



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Birthday, Christmas, Family Bonding, Family Fluff, Fluff, Found Family, Holidays, Other, Team as Family, and it turned into a holiday fic, knitting is something that can be so meaningful, this came from a writing discord that I'm in where we all started talking about knitting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:20:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27678674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiBread/pseuds/RiBread
Summary: The Aurinko Crime Family's next bonding exercise-- fiber arts! Juno learns to knit, Rita saves him from certain doom, and somehow this all becomes a Juno's birthday/holiday fluff fic. With emotionally meaningful gift giving because everything I touch gets That Deep.
Relationships: Buddy Aurinko & Aurinko Crime Family, Jet Sikuliaq & Juno Steel, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel, Rita & Jet Sikuliaq, Rita & Juno Steel
Comments: 10
Kudos: 68





	1. Chapter 1

“I’m sorry, I must’ve… had something in my ear. Say again?”

Buddy Aurinko sighed. “Juno, I’ve told you before to _listen_ during family meetings. Wasn’t it one of your conditions that you wanted to know everything before going in?”

“Yeah, yeah I know, just... this doesn’t seem, well, _relevant.”_

Vespa growled, looking like she was about to tell me exactly what she thought of my ‘relevance,’ but Buddy stopped her with a hand on her arm.

“Not everything worth doing has to do with a job. That’s why this is a _family,_ not a simple gang of crooks. Some of us still aren’t getting along the way I’d like, and what better bonding experience than a shared hobby?”

“Sure, but…” I couldn’t really think of a decent complaint, so I just went with what I’d been thinking ever since Buddy had called this meeting and Jet had plopped that huge craft-store bag into the middle of our little circle. _“Knitting?_ Really?”

“You know, I actually happen to quite like knitting,” came a mild voice from next to me. I snapped my head around to face Nureyev, feeling vaguely betrayed. He smiled, light and casual enough to be talking about the weather. “I may not have the chance to practice the skill much, but I find a sort of… comfort, in the patterns of it. The repetition. It’s rather calming.”

“Exactly!” Buddy clapped her hands together with a smile. “Pete, you’ve led me right to my next point. Thank you, darling.”

“You’re very welcome.”

I kicked him lightly in the ankle. “Ugh.”

He nudged me back. “Shh.”

“My point is, this hobby can be useful for more than simply bonding. Peter has already mentioned the memorization and pattern recognition— Rita, I imagine you’ll be quite good at that bit already, with a bit of guidance.”

On my other side, Rita bounced and squealed softly in excitement. And… yeah, it was getting tough to keep objecting, now, with both her and Nureyev all excited about the idea of tangling up some string. Buddy continued.

“He also mentioned the _calming_ effect. Jet, if you would.”

“Of course, Buddy.” Jet cleared just throat softly, shifting quietly in his seat. “Both Buddy and Vespa have agreed to allow me to speak on their behalf, as I am the one who begin the cycle we continue today.”

That… shouldn’t have surprised me, honestly. “Damn, big guy,” I said anyway, “you’re full of surprises.”

“It is not that surprising. I enjoy creating something, with my own two hands. And when Buddy was… unwell, I took it upon myself to teach her to knit as well. It is moving, when you feel as if you are nothing, to add something to the world that was not there before.”

I saw Vespa’s hand slide into Buddy’s lap. She twined their fingers together and squeezed. Buddy squeezed back.

And… fuck if the big guy’s words didn’t strike something with me, too. What if, back when I was a P.I. and all my cases felt like they’d be better off without me… I’d had a way to prove I could make something that didn’t leave the universe worse for the action? I didn’t know. Maybe it wouldn’t have helped.

I didn’t have to ask for what I was longing for. I didn’t even have to realize I was longing for it, really. As if he’d read my thoughts, seen my gaze on the entwined hands across from us, Nureyev’s slender fingers gently closed around mine, and I squeezed them gratefully. 

Maybe it _wouldn’t_ have helped then. But now... Listening to Jet, watching Buddy and Vespa smile and Rita bounce with excitement and feeling Nureyev’s hand in mine, I thought, maybe. Just maybe. And hell, it couldn’t _hurt._

Buddy took up the story. “Jet has helped me immensely, of course. And later, after my dear Vespa returned… I decided to pay it forward. That calming repetition works _wonders_ as a form of stress relief. And Vespa was already so good with… sharp implements.”

“...Ugh,” I said again, then quickly scooted my ankles out of Nureyev’s reach before he could repay my kick from earlier. He got me anyway. Damned long legs.

“Now, knitting is not the only form of fiber art that I am versed in,” Jet was saying now. “If you find knitting does not fit your preferences, there is always crochet. Or felting. Or needlework. Or—“

“Yeah, thanks, I think we’ve got it,” I interrupted. “Can we get to the part where you show us how it actually works?”

~~~

So, it turns out, I hate knitting.

A lot.

“God DAMMI—“ my needle clattered to the floor for the fifth time that hour, and as I searched for it under my desk, grumbling curses about crafts and Jet and Buddy’s dumb _bonding_ and boyfriends and birthdays and stupid earth holidays no one even _remembered_ — Rita popped her head in.

“Everything okay, boss?”

That little metal crochet hook she held was her constant companion, now, keeping her hands busy while she watched streams or in between lightning fast bouts of typing. Last week she’d churned out a scarf that must have been 12 feet long during a 24 hour Vicious Vampires of Venus special. I have no idea how she didn’t get snack dust all over the thing, but that’s Rita for you. 

She’d taken up crochet because she kept losing one knitting needle or the other, and apparently crocheting went faster or something so she didn’t get distracted. Plus, she could just pull the damn hook out if she wanted without the whole project unraveling in her hands, which I was unreasonably jealous of. After I’d dropped the millionth stitch on my first knitting project I’d tried to switch to crochet, but my hands had stubbornly refused to do what they were supposed to, and eventually Jet had rested his big hand on my shoulder and told me that sometimes, what worked out for one person didn’t work out for everyone, and that’s what made us all unique.

If I’d had a knitting needle I would’ve put it through his eye.

“Yeah, Rita, I’m _fine._ Just _peachy.”_ I found the needle and sat up with a sigh. “...Why the hell did you have to tell Ransom about… Christma Zeeve or whatever it was? It’s bad enough he knows about my birthday, too.”

“I think he already knew about the other thing too, boss,” Rita said, sounding just _barely_ guilty. Mostly, she sounded… proud of herself. I groaned. “Mista Ransom does travel a whole lot, you know! And actually it was Miss Buddy that said the whole ship would be doing a gift exchange, I only told _him_ about it cause I was watchin’ that stream the other day with the grumpy cop and all his cuuute little kids and that made me think about Captain Kahn, and I was like, ‘gosh, I wonder what he’s up to,’ and you know he’s the one that told me all about Christma Zeeve or whatevah, so then when Mista Ransom stopped me in the hall, I—“

“Told him all of that. Right.” I squinted my eye, trying to find where that stitch I’d dropped was in the mess of yarn on my lap. “And of course he had to go and remember, that damn thoughtful bastard—“

“He actually seemed pretty interested, Mista Steel. Noddin’ along and everything. He even asked me questions about the stream. Real nice of him.” Rita sidled up to me, smiling like she knew something I didn’t. “So, whatcha workin’ on?”

Rita had been like that, recently. Telling me all about how ‘nice’ Nureyev was, or how even though it used to always be the two of us she didn’t mind having him in the office… that kind of thing. Maybe she was trying to make up for the times she’d threatened him— in her own Rita way— back when we’d first gotten together. Somehow she’d picked up on details of our past… encounters, that I was pretty sure I’d never told her, and connected the dots that some of my worst slumps were after one of us… left. And she’d been a little protective anyway, since the whole Theia incident. Still, I couldn’t quite put my finger on her motive, here. I could always worry about it later. And either way, it was better than her staring bullets at him whenever she thought I looked a little tired.

“I’m making Ransom a present, Rita.” I looked down at the mess in my lap. “Or at least I’m _supposed_ to be.”

“Ooooh!!!” Rita squealed in excitement, as starry-eyed as I’d ever seen her even over her sappy romance movies. “What is it what is it what IS IT???”

“It’s, uh…” I paused, suddenly embarrassed. “It’s gonna be a sweater. See, this is the sleeve—“

“NO!”

Rita’s shriek came out of nowhere. I jumped, banging my knee on the desk and dropping that DAMN needle again. “Agh, Rita, what the fu—“

“Mista Steel! You’ve got a very good thing going with Mista Ransom, and I KNOW you did NOT just say you’re gonna risk the boyfriend sweater curse, not on MY watch!”

“The boy—“ I looked down at my knitting, then back up. “...What.”

“The _boyfriend sweater curse,_ Mista Steel! It’s real, believe you me, I’ve seen it firsthand! If you make a sweater for your boyfriend, before you even finish making it…. you’ll DIE!!! ...Or you’ll break up, can’t quite remember, but it’s BAD, Mista Steel, real bad!”

“Seen it firsthand, huh?”

“...Well I watched that movie firsthand at least, the one where the sweater gets infected with these creeepy alien fibers, and even as he’s working on that nice gift for his boyfriend they’re gaining sentience, getting stronger, and then they start _seducing_ that poor man’s boyfriend, and it’s actually a real beautiful love story, all about forbidden love and and making it _work,_ even if one of you’s... well, a sweater, and you know I don’t normally go in for love triangles, boss, but at the _end…_ NO! Wait! I won’t spoil it! But the point is, the curse is real oh and also it happened to Frannie?”

“And you couldn’t have led with that one.”

“It’s a _very good movie,_ Mista Steel.”

“...Ok. Maybe I’ll fire you next time I have a few hours free, if you can find a copy.” Rita squealed. I sighed. “So, there’s a curse, or whatever.”

“There sure is, boss.” 

“And that means I shouldn’t make him a sweater.”

“You sure _shouldn’t,_ boss!”

“...Well, the damn thing wasn’t working out anyway.” I gave up on finding my dropped stitch and began to pull on the loose end of the yarn, watching the rows unravel. It wasn’t too bad— I really hadn’t gotten very far. “Guess I’ll have to come up with another gift.”

“Oh, you’ll think of something! I know you will. Just think about… what he needs, maybe.” She smiled again, bouncing on her toes. “What the two of you need.”

I thought of slender fingers twining around mine, of cold skin and perfectly manicured nails. I thought of the times I’d seen those fingertips turn white and numb in mine, when I hadn't even noticed it was cold. And I thought of flawless makeup and immaculate fashion, everything matching down to the last cufflink. A grin spread across my face.

“Thanks, Rita. I think I know just the thing.”

“Oooh, I’m so excited for you both!!” Rita rocketed into me with a tight squeeze, and was bouncing out the door before I could even return it. “Good luck with that boss byeeeee!”

“Uh, bye.”

The door closed behind her, and I looked down at the pile of yarn in my hands. “...Yeah, I’m gonna need Jet for this one.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> part two, mostly just for length. It's time for a birthday, and a holiday!

Turns out Buddy’s little gift exchange was scheduled for the day _after_ my birthday. I’d already gotten my birthday present from Nureyev— a kiss in a darkened hallway, a whispered, ‘happy birthday, Juno,’ and something-- a little key on a chain, I discovered once he’d disappeared down the hall again-- slipped into my pocket as neatly as he’d stolen my keys the first time we’d kissed. It was… a little weird, honestly. I couldn’t figure out what the hell the key was _for._ It was tiny, too small for any lock I’d seen on the ship or in either of our belongings, and eventually I just wrote it off as… sentimentality. A callback to our first meeting, hell, maybe even a joke. Still, it was sweet, so I hung the key from its chain around my neck, and headed off to deal with whatever else my crewmates had planned for me.

To be honest, they’d done pretty well. Casual, but just enough to be nice. Jet and Vespa had baked a cake, Buddy had poured drinks, and I’d at least managed to convince them not to sing some stupid song before Rita dragged me off to watch that movie she’d mentioned.

...It was pretty good, actually.

And now it was a day later, and there were even more gifts on the way. As much as I’d protested, Nureyev had insisted that the two events couldn’t just be mashed together. 

‘So, just because your birthday is so close to Christmas, you’d deprive me of a once-a-year opportunity to give you the things you won’t get for yourself? That doesn’t seem very fair, Juno.’ 

I hadn’t had much choice, and he was right in a way— there were plenty of things I’d never even consider buying for myself unless they had a specific purpose. So maybe that was what the key was about, to just… have something nice, just because. It wasn’t the most satisfying answer, but it was all I had, so I put the finishing touches on my own gift for Nureyev and headed to the meeting room where the party was supposed to be. 

The room was all strung with lights in bright, warm colors, and decorated with some weird bush-thing in the corner that had been strewn with ribbons and paper shapes. Rita jingled towards me, in that god-awful sweater she’d crocheted and hung bells all over for some reason. 

“Mista Steel! We thought you weren’t coming, Jet was gonna have to play old man winter and get his big red sack and stuff you in it and _drag_ you here if you didn’t show up on your own, but you did!”

“I did not want to have to do it,” Jet said solemnly, “but I would have, had it become necessary.” 

“Uh… thanks. Yeah, no need to drag anyone anywhere, I was just… wrapping things.” I held up my little bag of gifts— something for everyone, like Buddy had said. 

“Under the bush, darling. With the others.” Buddy pointed to a little pile of packages, wrapped with varying degrees of care in varying types of wrapping. Mine fell… somewhere in the middle. I set down the bag and glanced around until I spotted Nureyev, stretched out catlike over the arm of the sofa. He made space for me as I came to sit next to him. 

“Merry Christmas, Juno,” he said, flashing that pointed smile.

“Yeah, I still don’t really get what that is.”

“Well, this isn’t exactly a _Christmas_ party,” Buddy interjected smoothly. “Some of our number celebrate other winter holidays, and it’s not as if this little earth tradition is the only one there is. I’m simply using the date as an… opportunity.”

“For crew bonding.”

“You’re getting it now, darling.” Buddy smiled brightly. “It’s also an opportunity to eat food, give gifts, and take a break from our work for an evening. If there are no other questions…” she looked around, but nothing seemed forthcoming. “Good! Now, to the gifts.”

I’ll be honest, a lot of it went by in a blur. Vespa went all gushy over a set of knives from Buddy, Rita opened a new comm attachment from Jet and was damn near on a different planet for the next hour as she hummed and gasped and squealed, testing it out in every possible way she could think of. I got a couple things myself— better stun settings for my blaster, a whole box of weird snacks from Rita which she immediately helped herself to, a pair of socks… a _second_ pair of socks.

My gifts went over pretty well, too, for all that I’d agonized over most of them for all of a week and a half. I’d found some sort of weird craft project thingy for Jet— it had a bunch of hoops and strings and bits of cloth, and I had no idea how it worked, but I figured he’d puzzle it out. Buddy and Vespa were tough, but I’d managed to get my hands on some of Buddy’s favorite booze for way cheaper than normal. She laughed as she unwrapped it, recognizing the same bottle I’d swiped from the Lighthouse the day we met. Vespa’s… I kinda expected her to want to kill me for it. What I didn’t expect was for her to unwrap the family-sized box of medi-adhesives decorated with little smiley faces and cutesy animals, and… let out a little noise of surprise. She sounded… pleased. 

“Thanks, Juno,” she grumbled after a moment, but despite her reluctance she couldn’t quite hide the slightest upwards curl of her lips before she turned away again.

I’d been getting Rita the same thing for years, and I wasn’t about to change now. A giant bag of those nasty salmon snacks of hers, and a folded paper booklet. Each page had a different, handwritten ‘coupon’— one free pass to bug Juno Steel about taking a nap, one ticket to drag us both to the movies whenever you want, one day’s worth of playing streams while you work, loud as you want— that sort of thing. 

...Ok, so it was dumb. But when I was little, my brother and I used to give each other stuff like this, coupons to get away with something that normally would annoy the other, or even to take the blame for something the other did. We didn’t need them— we probably still would’ve done all that stuff anyway, coupon or no. But it was nice, having something to give when we didn’t have much else. For some reason that tradition had stuck with me, even through the years where I did my best to _never_ think about Benzaiten, no matter what, so every year I sat down and wrote out every dumb joke or reference or genuine favor I could think of, slapped a tag on it, and handed it off to Rita. And every year, she acted like I’d just given her the sun.

“Aw, Mista Steel!!! You shouldn’t have!”

“You say that every time, Rita.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you always shouldn’t have!” Rita flipped through the book, giving a gasp of delight. “Aw, you made it special this year! Look— ‘one free hoverbike race down the main hallway of the Carte Blanche.’ How did you know I’d been wanting to do that?”

“Maybe because you mention it every time Jet gets the damn bike out? Anyway, I had to get both him _and_ Buddy to sign off on that one, so use it wisely.”

“You must wear a helmet, of course,” Jet informed her calmly. “I should have plenty in your size. You may select any color you wish.”

“Awww, thank you all so so so so much!” Rita grabbed me into a hug again, then Jet— and for good measure, Nureyev, Buddy, and Vespa too. Vespa must have been caught off guard just enough to let it happen.

Finally, after Rita settled down to mess with her new comm-thingy again, there were only two gifts remaining under the bush. Nureyev rose gracefully from his place draped across my lap and selected one of the packages. It was… surprisingly plain, compared to the careful design of the other gifts he’d given, though no less beautiful for it. Simple brown paper, wrapped carefully with a silvery ribbon. He grinned, showing sharpened teeth, as I tugged one end of the ribbon. 

“Go on, open it.”

“...Should I be worried?”

“You wound me, Juno!” Nureyev put a hand to his heart. His smile never wavered. “After all we’ve been through, and you _still_ don’t trust me?”

A laugh bubbled up in my throat, which is probably exactly what he was going for judging by how his smile brightened. “Ok, knock it off. I’m opening it.” I finished untying the ribbon, peeled away the paper, and lifted the lid. Inside, cradled on a bed of tissue paper, was…

My wallet.

Nureyev was grinning like a shark as I fixed him with a glare. My pockets-- I patted them, feeling for what I already knew was missing, and _that’s_ when I remembered. The kiss in the hallway, the key around my neck… the pocket I’d found that key in. I opened my mouth to speak, but Nureyev beat me to the punch.

“Oh, don’t worry, dear. That’s not all of the present. You can take that back if you like, I just thought I’d have some fun, since you seemed so dead set against two sets of gifts. Why not a gift in two parts?”

Keeping up my glower wasn’t easy in the face of that glowing smile. I did my best anyway. “I can’t believe you gave me _my own stolen wallet_ for Christmas.”

“And here I thought you didn’t care about some old earth holiday.” Nureyev laughed, sweet and clear as a bell. “No, no, worry not. I have the _real_ rest of your gift, right… here.”

He reached into the collar of his shirt and pulled out a chain of his own. From it dangled a pendant in the shape of a heart-- and there in the center was a tiny keyhole. Just the right size for the key he’d given me. I fished it out from under my collar, and Nureyev leaned in, close enough for my key to reach the lock without removing the necklace. 

“You have the key to my heart, Juno.”

“I-- oh, sh-shut up!” Despite myself, my heart fluttered in my chest, and I knew I was smiling like an idiot. I could feel my face burning, feel eyes on us, and lightning fast, I scanned the room. Vespa was looking anywhere _but_ at us. Buddy smiled vaguely, eye fixed on a point just a bit to our right. Jet watched, but… it kinda felt like that was just where his gaze had happened to land. 

Rita was staring directly at me, both hands pressed over her mouth to keep from saying anything, and practically _vibrating._

I sighed, trying and failing to sound resigned rather than… I don’t know, lovestruck? But Nureyev was looking at me with those soft eyes, his smile so sweet and hopeful, and… I put my key in the lock and turned.

The inside of the locket was empty, but for a single word engraved in beautiful script, right in the center of the heart. 

“Nureyev.”

It was… sappy, okay? His first gift to me was his name, the key to his heart… the fact he was still going by ‘Peter Ransom’ around here. Blah blah blah. It was the sappiest, most stupidly heartfelt _romantic_ gesture anyone had ever done for me, and he’d pulled it out right after revealing he’d stolen my damn _wallet._ I sniffed, wiping fruitlessly at my eye.

“You’re a sap, you know that?” As gently as I could, I removed the key and closed the locket, holding it tight in my hand between us.

“Only for you.”

He kissed me, and like the universe just loved to come full circle, I felt again like that kiss could last forever-- or exactly as long as we deserved. Soft lips, the smell of his cologne that had haunted me long after it had faded from my apartment. His hand on my waist, the other in my hair. My arms around his neck.

Then I remembered two things. There were still four people in the room, and… I still had a gift to give. 

I pulled away, face burning like a Martian sandstorm, and muttered, “Ok, your turn. Let me get my--” Buddy cleared her throat meaningfully, and I glanced up to see her already holding out my carefully tied up gift bag. For the most part, the room hadn’t changed, except that Rita was making a sound I figured was one step away from being audible only to dogs and mosquitoes, and the tips of Vespa’s ears were bright red.

Nureyev took the bag from me and had it undone in seconds. He rescued the item inside from a sea of tissue paper, blinked, and let out a delighted laugh. Delighted and _baffled,_ which is pretty much exactly what I’d hoped for.

“Juno, did you-- did you make these?”

“Yep. Picked out the yarn, pattern, everything. Turns out I’m okay at knitting if I can just slow it down for a second. And cabling was… easier than I expected.”

“The best things in life often are.”

“Yep, thanks, Jet. Anyway, someone I trust told me to think about what you need, for a gift. And what the two of us need.” I looked pointedly at his hands. “So… yeah. You like them?”

Eyes sparkling with mirth, Nureyev held up the gift I’d made for him. A pair of chunky, cable-knit mittens in an eye-smarting shade of red, white details around the cuff and covering the fingers. Jet had helped me figure out how to make the ‘mitten’ part a flap that could be pulled back and fastened, turning the whole thing into something more like fingerless gloves. Even the button that held the flap in place was nothing like anything Nureyev usually wore-- big and round and glittery. The whole set was-- by design-- _hideous._

I watched as Nureyev put them on. They fit perfectly-- enough space for those long, slim, fingers, thick and warm enough to bring color to the tips even in the cold of space. There was amusement in his smile, of course, but that soft sweetness that had warmed the air between us when he’d given me his heart hadn’t dissipated. He laughed, holding up his mittened hands to the light.

“Oh, I bet you think you’ve won this round, Juno.” He leaned in, and his eyes bored into mine. “I… am going to wear these. Everywhere.” 

If Nureyev wanted a reaction, I’d give him one. Quick as a flash, I closed the distance between us with a kiss, pulling back before he could so much as react. He blinked in surprise, flushing a pretty pink under his soft skin. Seeing that-- it felt... nice, to be the one person who could flap the unflappable master thief. Just like knitting was _creation_ \-- bringing something into the world that hadn’t been there before-- I knew I created something in Peter Nureyev. A name. A home. Emotions that stirred inside us both, the kind that meant I could create that soft, blushing expression with something as easy as a touch. A gift. And he created all that in me, too.

Love. It’s something you make, just like a knitting project. And Peter Nureyev was crafting it with his own two, cold, ugly-mitten-covered hands.

“Good,” I told him. “I’m looking forward to holding your hand without getting goddamn _frostbite.”_


End file.
